Identity
by babedarlingpotter
Summary: Bella and Edward knew each other since they were children, but were never friends. However, circumstances forged an alliance between them, and when Bella receives a gift from her absentee father, her life as she knew it would never be the same again.
1. Prologue

**A/N: All right, I know I'm juggling a lot of stories at the moment, but I just couldn't pass this opportunity up. TracyMelinda87 PMed me about her idea of Bella and Edward already being together when the novel Twilight begins at Forks, except with a mythological twist: Bella's father isn't human, but a god (More like a Titan, but that's hinting... so shush me up). This story will be about Bella's search for her identity, hence the title. Anyhow, here's the prologue...**

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own anything.**

Identity

**Prologue**

The story begins with a simple, well-to-do family called the Masens. Given the wealthy status of the family, it comes as a pleasant surprise to know that Mrs. Elizabeth Masen isn't a snooty socialite, and is in fact a very agreeable, amiable lady of thirty seven. Her husband Mr. Edward Masen, a high ranking lawyer for Chicago's most successful law firm, is a stout man who appears to not have aged the past fifteen years, as he still looks as devilishly handsome as his twenty year old counterpart.

Roughly ten years ago, Elizabeth had given her husband the best gifts of all, and that is their son, the pride and joy of the Masen family. His name is Edward Anthony Masen, named after his father for they share the same hazel green eyes, and after his grandfather because he inherited the man's coveted musicality. Elizabeth couldn't be more proud of her son, so it was a disappointment when she found him in the garden one day, arguing with a little girl who looked no older than eight or nine.

"Edward Anthony," she cried, walking out of the front door, down the porch steps and through the flowered flowerbeds. "What on earth are you doing? I thought I raised a gentleman as my son, not a ruffian who treats lovely ladies, such as the one in our presence, like a servant boy!" She crouched low so that she can tweak her son's mass of bronze red hair and make it more presentable. "And why are you not wearing your jacket, it's windy out."

"I wanted to pick you some flowers, mama," Edward said earnestly, ignoring the reprimand as much as a ten year old would. "I wasn't to be out longer than a minute and I thought asking Renee for my jacket would be too much of a trouble."

Elizabeth frowned, but accepted her son's explanation nonetheless. She stood up to the fullest extent of her height, smoothened out the creases in her dress and nodded. Edward sighed in relief before breaking off into a sprint back into the house. "Oh no, don't think you're getting away that easily, Edward," she said, grabbing her sprightly song by the collar of his shirt. "You still haven't explained yourself for your behavior to…" She drifted off, not knowing the little girl's name. "What is your name, dear?" she asked, smiling gently to put the girl at ease.

The little girl, noticing the lady's attention on her, blushed and mumbled an incoherent sentence. When Edward laughed, the little girl's blush deepened as she frowned and said, "I like to be called Bella, but Mother always insist that I introduce myself as Isabella."

"Isabella?" Elizabeth's eyebrows raised a fraction. "Are you perchance Renee's daughter?"

Renee Swan was the Masens' housekeeper, having taken over from her mother five years ago. She was an amiable enough lady, with blonde hair and sparkling brown eyes that she, clearly, had passed on to her daughter. In fact, Elizabeth fancies that she finds a friend in Renee, even though their social classes would never permit it.

Bella, after scrutinizing Elizabeth's expression and finding something likeable, nodded her head timidly. "Yes. We were supposed to go to the pier today, but Mr. Masen called for her to work even though today was supposed to be her free day. Mother says she doesn't mind – she understands that Mr. Masen is ill and needs to be taken care of – but I know she hates to disappoint me. I told her everything's all right, as long as I get to spend a day with her."

"I see," said Elizabeth simply. She stayed silent, choosing to not voice how Bella's words tugged at her mothering heart. It was ill-fated that her husband had chosen today of all days to become sick. Since no one else in the household – not the maids, the butler or even Elizabeth herself – could tolerate a complaining Edward Sr., they were forced to call in Renee. She had a heart of gold, and was perhaps the best nurse the Masens ever had, despite her lack of training in the field. She could cure a nasty stomach ache with ginger tea and put Edward to sleep with just a sip of a chamomile infusion.

Speaking of her son, Elizabeth turned to the ten year old sternly. "Well?" she demanded.

Edward fidgeted under his mother's intense gaze. His eyes flickered to the girl he now knew as Bella, and saw that she was sticking her tongue out at him. Feeling affronted (as much as a child can, anyhow), he puffed out his chest and began explaining his actions: "I didn't mean to upset anyone, mama. Bella is far too sensitive about things."

"Am not!" exclaimed Bella, crossing her arms and stamping her foot. Elizabeth saw the girl's petticoat fly higher than normal due to the wind and exposed her stocking-free knees, much to her consternation. She wasn't a snooty socialite by any means, but etiquette was etiquette, and the girl was not properly dressed.

"Are, too!" retorted Edward.

"I wouldn't have been upset if you didn't call me an annoying know-it-all!"

"I wouldn't have called you that if you stopped talking about flowers, telling me all the unwanted information! I only wanted to ask why I should be careful with the roses."

"And did you even heed my warning?" Bella reached out for Edward's hand and faced it palm upwards for Elizabeth to inspect. "I advised him to pick the forget-me-nots and the columbines instead since they match your dress and eyes, but he insisted on the roses. His blatant disregard for my warning led to his finger bleeding and he has the audacity to blame me for it!"

Elizabeth, although amused by the children's interaction, was surprised to hear Bella's use of language. Heed, advised, insisted, blatant disregard, audacity? Those were heavy words for a nine year old – presuming that was Bella's age – to use.

"Well then," Elizabeth hurried to say before Edward could retaliate. "I think I've heard enough to formulate my own conclusion. Edward," she locked eyes with her son, "you are the one in the wrong here. I think you should apologize to Bella. And Bella," she turned to the girl, "you are a guest in this household and thus must not use that tone of voice on my son, do you understand? Gently chastise him if you wish, but do not yell at him like you did just now."

Feeling that she had driven her point home, Elizabeth instructed her son to run back inside and entertain himself. Seconds later, the sounds of the pianoforte echoed through the air. Smiling serenely, Elizabeth coerced the contrite looking Bella into a conversation. Little did the mother know that the argument she had just witnessed was to be the beginning of a lengthy dispute between the two children.

**A/N: Well?**


	2. Years at a Glance

**Disclaimer:****All publicly recognizable characters you see here are most likely the property of Stephenie Meyer****.**** It's either hers or some other intelligent dude's creation. If you see anything that is neither Meyer's nor any other famous person's, then perhaps it might be mine. I don't own anything apart from the characters I created, and even then it's just for this chapter. Boo hoo for me.**

Identity

Chapter I: Years at a Glance

(Bella's POV)

...the year 1914...

"Bella-dear, are you ready yet?" cried Aunt Gertrude as she knocked fleetingly on my bedroom door. "We ought to leave now if we want to make it in time for the party." I heard her knocking again, except this time it was on the door across from mine. "Henry-dear, how about you?"

"I'm ready, Mother," said Henry calmly. "I have been ready ever since you asked me half an hour ago."

"Oh, you're right. Of course you're ready, dear," fumbled my aunt. I could imagine her playing with the beads of her dress or the lace of her fan. She always does that to show how nervous she was. I suppose she has a reason to be nervous. Aunt Gertrude never does well with crowds, and we were going to a party. A birthday party for a thirteen year old boy, but a party nonetheless.

"How about some tea before we head out?" Henry suggested. Tea was a surefire way to calm my aunt's nerves.

Aunt Gertrude said something in reply, but I failed to hear her words as Henry led her down the stairs and into the drawing room. Sighing at my aunt's antics, I returned my attention to my reflection in the floor length mirror in front of me, frowning as I caught sight of the hideous dress I was forced to wear. Its ghastly shade of pink overpowered my pale complexion, the lace hemming the neckline irritated my neck and tangled with my long brown hair, and last yet certainly not the least, its puffed up skirt made me look like a balloon.

The dress was horrible, and to make things worse, Edward will see me wearing it. As if he needed any more ammunition to tease and insult me. Closing my eyes briefly, I prayed that he would behave today. It was his thirteenth birthday after all, and I knew for a fact that his father, Mr. Masen, would reprimand him royally if he didn't act his age.

"All right," I whispered, opening my eyes. "You can do this, Bella. Just stick to Aunt Gertrude and pretend you're not wearing a gaudy balloon to this party. Everything will go splendidly as long as you maintain your focus and not get baited by the birthday boy. You got that, Bella? No speaking to Edward beyond the polite, 'Happy Thirteenth.'"

Nodding, I plastered a believable smile on my face and ran downstairs. One of the perks of being twelve years old was that I can run up and down the stairs. I was learning to savor the experience every time I do so, because I can tell from the glances Aunt Gertrude has been giving me that she was planning on giving me the 'properly lady behavior' speech soon. I hoped beyond hope that she would wait until I was sixteen, fifteen at the most.

"Whoa there, Bella," laughed Henry as he held out an arm to catch me. "You know what my mother says about running around the house, don't you?" It was more of a warning than a question, but I humored him nonetheless.

I looked up at my cousin with an innocent expression. With his height bordering on six feet, my neck was aching with the effort. "She said she didn't want to see me running," I said sweetly, "and I am doing just fine hiding from her sight."

"Don't you be cheeky with me, young lady," chided my cousin, though the smirk on his face betrayed his amusement. His brown eyes, the same eyes I have, were sparkling with contained mirth.

"I'm not being cheeky, cousin," I replied simply. "I'm simply answering your query. If you didn't like my answer, then why did you ask for it in the first place?"

Henry laughed a deep rumbling chuckle, reminiscent of his father, Mr. Spencer. I personally didn't know Mr. Spencer since he had died before I was born, but I've heard plenty of stories from Aunt Gertrude to know that Henry's laugh was just like his father's. "Why you," Henry said. "Go on into the drawing room and let Mother see that you're ready. I think she's calmed enough some, now."

Smiling winningly, I did as he asked me and strolled into the decent sized drawing room. Aunt Gertrude was standing by the window, cradling a cup of hot tea between her hands. She must've seen my reflection on the glass because the moment I stepped in, she spun around, placed her cup on the nearest flat surface that was not the floor, and marched towards me.

"Bella-dear," she exclaimed. "Don't you look wonderful!" She took my hand and twisted me into a full circle, allowing her to see the entirety of the dress. When I was facing her again, however, I saw that she was frowning. "Bella," she sighed wearily, "you look like a princess, as always, but what did you do with your hair?"

I felt my eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Nothing, Aunt Gertrude."

"Exactly! We're going to a party, not to the park. Even more, it's to the _Masens_ of all people. You'd never know who might be there. You need to look your absolute best."

This time, it was my turn to frown. "It's a birthday party, Aunt. What's more it's Edward's birthday party. I don't see why I have to look my best for just him. And I like my hair the way it is."

"Yes, dear. I know that, dear..." She trailed off as retrieved something from a drawer across the room. Returning, I saw what it was and my frown deepened. "However, you'll so much better with a bow on your head. Just imagine all the heads you'll turn with your hair out of your pretty face!"

Oh, I could just imagine all of the heads I'll turn with the hideous dress I'm wearing, not my face. Don't worry about my hair, Aunt Gertrude. I'll be getting enough attention already. Just seek out the uncomfortable looking girl in the corner sulking.

"But Aunt Gertrude," it was a testimony to my control that I managed to keep the whine out of my voice, "Mother wouldn't want my hair to be tied back with a bow. She said so in her last visit that she loves it when my hair dances around in the wind."

My mother, Renee Swan, worked as a housekeeper for the Masens. She has been ever since her mother, my grandmother, died years ago when I was still a toddler. With no means to support herself - my father abandoned my mother before I was even born - she was forced to give me up to her sister, who was successfully married to the wealthy Spencer family.

"Bella-dear," sighed my aunt. "Just do this once, please? For me? Let me assure you that my sister wouldn't mind at all."

And so I let my aunt have her fun. I suppose getting teased and ridiculed by the birthday boy was an exchange I'd be willing to do to make my Aunt Gertrude happy. Besides, this could be my birthday present for Edward.

...the year 1915...

Feeling a headache brewing, I muttered a hasty plead to be excused to my aunt, who was far too engrossed in exchanging gossip with her friends to actually hear what I was saying, and rushed out of the room as unobtrusively as I can. I wasn't too fond of parties, or any type of social gathering for that matter. My aunt had tried many times in the past to mold me into the party-loving daughter she never had, but I suppose I spent far too much time reading Henry's old school books.

Speaking of my dear cousin, I wonder why his presence was absent from the group of men playing billiards in the next room I knew were his private school buddies. Pausing a moment to admire a vase of flowers on a passing table, I shrugged that thought out of my head and continued walking the familiar trail to my bedroom. I passed by the dining room and saw Emma, the maid, preparing for dinner. The kitchen likewise was equally busy as the cook went from stirring this to chopping that with much alacrity.

"Bella!" someone called, halting my steady walk to my room.

"What is it that you want?" I attempted to keep my voice free from hostility, but my head was aching enough already. I didn't need _his_ unwanted company any more than I want another round of stabbing pain within the confines of my skull.

"Nothing," Edward said confidently. "I saw you leave the drawing room looking quite unwell, so I followed you to see if you were all right."

Without permission, my left eyebrow rose in incredulity. Edward Masen was showing concern… for me. Yes, pull the other one, it has bells on it. "Are you sure that's the reason?" I asked unkindly. "And I'm feeling fine, thanks for asking."

I crossed my arms and sent Edward a challenging look. Edward and I met four years ago in his front garden; I had caught him trying unsuccessfully to prune the roses and told him that he ought to get his mother carnations instead, but he didn't listen. Mrs. Masen found the both of us quarreling and reprimanded the both of us, though I had one that particular argument. From then on, there had been this rivalry going on between Edward and me. It was as if Edward strived to prove that he was the better person out of the both of us, just because I had won that first argument.

Edward was a good deal taller than me and was showing signs of puberty, such as having broader shoulders, less chubbiness in the face and a deeper, albeit hilariously squeaky at random intervals, tone. I hated to admit it, but he looked handsome, especially with those green eyes of his sparkling whenever something caught his fancy. Of course, I wouldn't know, seeing as I tend to avoid his presence and therefore his sparkling green eyes also.

"Well?" I huffed, impatient when he did not speak.

"All right, you caught me," Edward said sheepishly, rubbing the tip of his toe on the floor in embarrassment. "Not meaning to insult your aunt, Bella, but this party is dreadfully boring. You're the only one here around my age range and, I know it's very pathetic of me, I thought I could spend some time with you." He cleared his throat when I did not react. "Well, do you mind?"

I shook my head to clear myself out of my stupor. "What? Oh, yes - I mean, no, I don't mind. I understand what you're trying to get at. I, myself, have a headache from all of the superficial prattling the women in the drawing room were partaking in."

Edward smirked, showing the first signs in this conversation of his arrogance and cockiness. "What, Swan, afraid of a little talk about lace and ribbons?"

I blushed, remembering that awful day on his birthday party last year. The gathering was far from the children-filled party my aunt had in mind. It was more of a recital, with Edward entertaining all of his guests with his prodigal skills on the pianoforte. Suffice to say, I was the only one wearing a bright pink balloon that day, and Edward had never failed to remind me of that fact.

"No," I shook my head sharply, "more like afraid of breaking the rules of propriety. You wouldn't want to know what Amelia and those other debutante girls were talking about with your mother and my aunt."

Now the blush was on Edward's face.

"Come on," I said, taking pity on the boy. "There's a piano up on the library. Perhaps you can entertain yourself there while I rest for a while."

"You have a piano," stated Edward, "in the library. Of all places, why that one?"

I shrugged, not knowing the answer. There was silence as I led the way upstairs to the library. It was a large room, though the walls filled to the brim with books gave it a cramped yet welcome look. There was a sofa set in one corner by the fireplace, while the small piano was tucked snugly in another corner next to Henry's pile of school books. Emma had given up tidying and placing them in their rightful places on the various shelves, knowing that I would just ask for them the next day.

"It's not much," I said to Edward, gesturing to the piano, "but it plays well enough if you have an experience pair of hands."

Edward smiled and nodded at my carefully worded compliment. He made a beeline for the piano, leaving me well enough alone to rest and relax. Sinking ungracefully on the elegantly designed settee, I fell asleep within moments, the fair tunes of Claude Debussy's _Claire de Lune_ lulling me to the realm of dreams.

...the year 1916...

It was late in the afternoon and I was walking aimlessly around the park, having cleverly outwitted Amelia Beauregard in the maze-like flower garden five or ten minutes ago. I didn't intend to be mean to Henry's fiancée, but her loquacious personality played on my nerves. The sole reason I wanted to come to the park today was to be alone, to have some quiet thinking time while I attempt to make sense of the events these past months. With Henry's engagement, Aunt Gertrude's illness and the Spencer family's money funding her medications, I didn't know what to think. And to add insult to injury, my mother was fired from the Masens after her disappearing act a fortnight ago. Now she's living with us while she searched for a decent enough job, as well as to take care of her sister.

Screaming in frustration, I kicked the empty air around me and stomped my feet angrily. I kicked and screamed and stomped to my heart's content, tears springing from my eyes at the hopelessness I was feeling. Spent, I collapsed on a bench and buried my head in my hands.

"Isabella, is that you, girl?"

I instantly ceased my crying and quickly swiped the tears away. I tidied my clothes and fixed my hair, not wanting to be seen unraveled by Amelia, of all people. She was fast approaching me, one hand on her head to keep her feathered hat from flying away, the other swinging by her side, the fingers clenched in frustration.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, Isabella!" she exclaimed. I looked up at her unrepentant, which only seemed to infuriate her more, judging from the way her ample chest heaved heavily in that tight bodice of hers. Why women happily put on those dreadful devices, I would never know. Though I was already fourteen, my body has yet to realize that fact. That meant no bodices or corsets for me, and definitely now ribbons or clips to place my hair on a bun, no matter what Mother and Aunt Gertrude might say.

"When are you going to learn, child?" Amelia cried. "When I say stay close, you stay close and do not go wandering around! Do you know how dangerous it is to be young and alone and _female_ in these public places? You could've been killed or worse... _violated_." She shuddered at the very thought of being 'violated.'

"Don't waste your breath, Amelia," I said, standing up and straightening out my dress. "Nobody in their right mind, not even a rapist," - I ignored Amelia's stifled gasp - "would bother to look at me, let alone approach and violate me."

"Isabella!" she chided, aghast. "You watch your words, young lady. You are tempting fate!"

I snorted. "Me? Tempting? Don't tease, Amelia." The laugh swiftly disappeared from my face when I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. Groaning, I sat back down and bent forward, my nose touching my knees. I vaguely noticed Amelia sitting beside me, placing a comforting hand on my back while she uttered useless words of concern. It was obvious that I was in pain.

"Tell me where it's hurting, Isabella," instructed Amelia. "Perhaps it is just a passing thing. Oh dear, do you think your aunt has infected you?"

"I sincerely hope not," I grounded out through clenched teeth. I breathed in and out, the soft rhythm of Amelia's hand rubbing on my back soothing and comforting. I immediately felt regretful for baiting the woman. A minute or two passed in silence, and the pain finally ebbed away. Straightening up, I rubbed a hand over the rough area of my stomach and gently teased the muscles.

"Are you all right now?" Amelia asked tentatively.

"I think so. There's no pain anymore. Perhaps it really was just a passing thing."

It turned out, once Amelia dropped me off at home, that it was not a passing thing. This time, it was Henry who sat beside me and rubbed my back, though his rough, manly hands weren't quite as effective as Amelia's soft, tender ones.

"Bella, I thought Amelia said the pain won't last," frowned Henry. "Were you lying to her?"

"I couldn't even if I wanted to," I all but growled at him. "It hurts too much to stand erect, let alone walk the two hundred yards from the park. Don't you ever use that thing between your ears, Henry?" I whimpered and buried myself deeper in to the covers of my bed, my pillow incredibly useful as I clutched onto it like it was a doll.

"You're in pain, Bella." The weight of my cousin's hand disappeared. "So I will let your attitude slide just this once."

I figured that my comment insulted him, but I couldn't bring myself to care and apologize at the moment. I was feeling all sorts of emotions from irritation to anger to hopelessness, and all of them were warring in my mind for dominance.

"I'm going to call Aunt Renee," he said. His voice was far away; he was most likely standing by the door now. "She might know what's ailing you."

He left and closed the door after him with a click. Seconds later, Emma entered with a bowl of hot water and a washcloth. She set the things on the dresser, muttered her condolences for my illness even though I assured her that I wasn't ill, and quickly exited the room, her steps light and quick from all her years as a maid. My mother was the next person to enter my room. She sat on my bed and played with my hair for a while.

"My poor baby," she whispered, probably thinking that I was asleep. "I wish I could take your pain away from you, dear. I wish I could give you the life you deserved, and I am so terribly sorry for what's ahead of you. I hope in time you'll forgive and forget."

I stirred under her hand. "Mother?" I asked softly.

Mother was staring out the window, a long-suffering expression etched on her face. Though naturally aged, my mother still looked like a young maiden. I knew from local gossip that her youthful beauty was the envy of most women her age. When she heard me speak, her countenance transformed into a look that of impish delight.

"Hello, baby," she crooned. "Feeling better?"

"Infinitesimally," I nodded. "Now that you're with me, Mother."

She nodded as well and continued caressing my face. "Baby, do you know why you're in such pain?"

At my baffled expression, my mother just smiled wistfully and proceeded in educating me the most bewildering and uncomforting topic ever to have graced the earth. I've lost count of how many times I wished to be in a completely different room. I believe there were some things Mother mentioned were simply far too mature for my delicate, innocent ears. I was glad to finally have an explanation for the pain, which was located not in the stomach at all, just below it. But I was not glad to be the unwilling victim of my mother's incredibly lengthy speech.

"...So do you understand now why it has to happen every month?" Mother asked. She was clearly amused by my apparent horror and disgust.

"Uh, y-yes I th-think," I stammered gracefully. My hands were red and raw from the many times I've twisted and played with them, and my mind in turn was reeling from the information I've just learned. "Mother," I said after a pause. "I understand why it could be such a bother, but you've explained how amazing it can be given the right mindset."

"Where are you going with this, Bella?"

"Nowhere. I just want to know why..." I looked up to meet her eyes. "Why did you apologize before? You did nothing wrong. This is perfectly natural. Your declarations of how this is natural have tallied up to twenty-five."

My mother looked away from my inquiring gaze. "I thought you were asleep," she said so lowly, I had a difficult time in understanding her. Finally she faced me again. "Baby," she said, "you'd understand sooner or later why I said what I said, although I would especially urge you to find out later rather than sooner." She caressed my cheek. "You are still so young..." And then she stood up and went to tend to Aunt Gertrude, leaving me as baffled as ever.

**A/N: All right. There's the first chapter. Don't hold your breath for the second chapter, though. I'm kinda focusing more on Two World and Watcher before I try Chapter II. Still, I just might change my mind. Writer's block can do that...**

**=]**


	3. Changes in Perspective

**Disclaimer:****All publicly recognizable characters you see here are most likely the property of Stephenie Meyer****.**** It's either hers or some other intelligent dude's creation. If you see anything that is neither Meyer's nor any other famous person's, then perhaps it might be mine. I don't own anything apart from the characters I created.**

Identity

Chapter 2: Changes in Perspective

...the year 1917...

I couldn't believe that precisely a year ago, this moderately spacious house was full to the brim with people. This quaint little house, the house I basically grew up in, having begun living here when Mother took up that job with the Masens when I was but a mere four year old, was empty. I was practically the last person living here, except for Emma, but the poor old lady looked ready to drop dead on her feet. In fact, she had done so many times already, which was why Henry had decided to let go of her. She had cried a river when she found out yesterday, but then so did I.

She was my last remaining tie to this place.

Henry, after marrying Amelia, promptly moved out of the house - moved out of _town_ - and settled in nicely in the countryside. I barely saw them the past year, and it had come as a surprise to me to find Amelia just about ready to pop with the pregnancy. She was glowing, like all mothers do during pregnancy, but that didn't mean she didn't look like a whale. I was quickly berated once I told my cousin-in-law of this fact.

Of course, with Henry gone, the responsibility of nursing Aunt Gertrude fell wholly to my mother. She had given up the search for a decent job, instead she (and Emma and I) became dependent on the Spencer family fortune. But with Henry's new family and Aunt Gertrude's illness, the money was soon spent. We even had to sell all of my aunt's precious tea sets just to pay for her medication.

My family's situation became much worse as the year progressed. Aunt Gertrude finally died, having slipped off peacefully one night. Everyone was devastated, except for me. Sure, I loved the old lady, but I was happy for her. At least wherever she was now, she was not suffering from pneumonia or tuberculousis or whichever illness that had taken a fancy to her poor health.

After her sister's death, my mother was never the same again. I was there for her, to comfort her and take over whenever she was too distraught to perform the necessary 'lady of the house' duties. I honestly didn't understand why my mother, the strongest person I knew, would bawl herself hoarse over the peaceful passing of a loved one. Even Henry didn't cry, or at least he didn't show it.

Mother cried all the time - she hid most of her episodes from me, but I still heard her through the walls. She would spend the day pretending that she was not crying the previous night; she would put up a brave face for me, her daughter. But I caught her some nights, crying by the window of her bedroom and looking outside. I didn't know what she was looking at, I never did ask, but she must've been looking at something. I was sure of that.

I was also sure that with my mother's delicate condition (we never did know which days she would wake up fine, or which days she would just hole herself in her room and neglect all of her duties), so had taken it upon myself to run the household. It wasn't very difficult. We still had money left, despite it's meager amount, and Amelia sent some every other month. We had food on the table. We were clothed warmly, though not very comfortably. It was the best I could ever ask for...

...but then things changed when, after an entire month, Mother had not woken from her 'trances', as Emma had dubbed them. I was frantic with worry. I had called Henry, who in turn consulted with his wife, who then suggested that we take Mother to a doctor. If I had thought that my life before was difficult, my life after I found out that Mother - _my_ mother - was mentally ill and had no chances of recovering without the proper medical help which we _certainly_ could not afford... it was hell. Basically hell on earth.

It wasn't the cleaning or the cooking or the lack of comforts that I hated; I didn't even mind much just having old Emma for company. It was the realization that sooner or later, my mother would leave me alone in this world to fend for myself. It might not be the mental disorder she was suffering from that would kill her. It might just be old age or some kind of disease. But as a daughter who depended upon her mother for everything, it was a daunting thought. The idea chilled me to the bones.

And then she did leave me, just last night, which was why the house felt so empty. Henry certainly didn't live here anymore. Aunt Gertrude was gone. Mother was gone. And Emma - poor, poor Emma, was forced to retire by my cousin. I was alone, I knew that, but it didn't help at all if even the empty rooms told me that also.

It was cruel. Very cruel.

"Bella," Amelia's voice echoed through the rooms. She was in the drawing room, yet her voice carried on upstairs. "Bella," she called again, "come downstairs! Henry and I need to talk to you."

Sighing deeply, I cast a long glance at my bedroom one last time before running down the stairs.

"How many times do I have to remind you, Bella," demanded Henry once I entered the drawing room. "We do not run in this house."

It appears that he had grown a temper with the recent happenings. And it wasn't like I was helping him any. I've been a terrible person to be with in the last twenty-four hours. I've pretty much acted the petulant twelve year old child that I look like, not the mature fifteen year old that I really am.

"But it's not your house anymore, dear cousin," I replied tonelessly. "You can't make rules anymore, and even if you do, I'm not obligated to follow them."

"Hush now, dearies," intoned Amelia before a quarrel can between my cousin and I. "Bella, do you know why you are here?" she asked. Her face was red and blotchy, either from the crying or the supposed 'pregnancy glow', and her hands were rested on her full belly.

"Because you called me," I said succintly.

"Yes, yes, we know that. But do you know _why_ I called you down here?"

"You wanted to talk to me."

"Bella, dearie, please don't try me. My delicate condition is just that: delicate. Do you know why I wanted to talk to you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm better at conversation than my dear old cousin?"

Henry frowned at my cheeky reply, though he did not say anything apart from the muttered words I was not able to hear. I suppose they were comments to my horrid behaviour, considering how Amelia glared at him before continuing her questioning. "I'm not quite sure about that, Bella," she laughed fakely. "If you must know, I called you down here today to discuss your situation."

"My situation?"

Apparently, I was a gifted parrot.

"As you may have realized by now, since Henry and I sold this house, you cannot live here anymore."

"I gathered as much from the empty rooms, with the furniture and even the curtains gone. So where am I to live? With you?" I didn't mind the idea of living with Amelia and Henry. In fact, I found it quite exciting. I've never been to the countryside before, since Aunt Gertrude always insisted on staying in the cities for this social gala or that social event. Perhaps, if I were to live in the countryside with Henry and Amelia, I might be able to actually _explore_ the region. I've never been allowed to explore anywhere.

Amelia shared a look with Henry before answering. "Not exactly..." she began. My small hopes crashed with those uttered words.

"You see, Bella," said Henry, eyes softening ever so slightly, "Amelia and I aren't exactly in a position to have another mouth to feed. With the baby coming soon, it would be terribly difficult to manage things back home. I'm not saying that we didn't consider taking you with us, because we did and we so desperately want you with family instead of with strangers..."

"However?" I prompted, uneasily transfering my weight from one foot to the other.

"However circumstances say otherwise."

"Circumstances?"

"Yes. Like I said, with the baby... and with most of the money gone, we've all had to make sacrifices. Amelia is moving back in with her parents -"

"Move back in with her parents?" There went my parrot imitation again. "But I thought they moved down south for family business!"

"Precisely," said Amelia. "I'll be giving birth there and Henry... well, he'd be working for his new job."

"New job?"

Henry, sighing, walked over towards me and kneeled so that we were seeing each other eye to eye. "Bella," he said gently, taking my hand, "I'm going to be a soldier. There's a war afoot in Europe, and I believe America's going to join in soon enough."

"A soldier?" I repeated incredulously. "What do you_ mean _a soldier, Henry? You could get youself injured or _worse_ if you partake in this war!"

"But it pays well, Bella. And I want the best for my unborn child."

"What about me, huh? Don't you want the best for me? You've known me longer than that child!"

"I'm not the bad guy in this situation, Bella. Don't make me out as the bad guy," warned Henry.

I cringed and blushed, aware of just how selfish I had sounded. Contrite, I hung my head and stared at my booted feet. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "But if you do go to this war, cousin, there's a large chance that you will lose your life." I raised my head and looked him in the eyes, pleading as much as I could without coming out as childish. "You're the last of my family, Henry. I don't want you to leave, too. And the baby," I gestured vaguely to Amelia's direction, "it would be dreadful parenting if you let he or she grow up without a father."

"Bella..." Henry tried, but I talked before he could say anything more.

"Take it from someone who understands, Henry. If you die," I ignored Amelia's sharp intake of breath, as if she just realised what the topic of conversation was, "then where would that leave Amelia? It would be embarrassing if she would just live off form her family. I know my mother did the same from Aunt Gertrude, but you must realise how much it shamed her."

Henry stood up and pulled himself to his full height. It awed me once again to see how tall my cousin really was. "I won't let that happen, Bella," he said, looking down at me with solemn eyes. "I love my wife and my unborn child too much... and I love you, dear cousin, too much to leave you to fend for yourself in this cruel world."

"Does this mean you won't become a soldier, then?" I knew it was futile to try - Henry was immovable once his mind was made up. Once glance at his current countenance told me enough. "Oh, I see," I said. I didn't know what else to say. I've tried to dissuade him.

"What will happen to me, then?" I asked. "I doubt I'd be living with the Beauregards."

"No, you won't be, Bella," inserted Amelia. There were fresh tracks of tears on her cheeks, but I chose to give her some space and privacy and chose not to mention it. "I am sorry that I wouldn't be able to take you with me, but my grandmother insisted that she would not turn her ancestral house into a petty orphanage."

Wisely, Henry chose to jump in and distriact my train of angry thoughts towards the Beauregard matriarch by saying, "Of course, this only lead to one option."

"I hope it's not the Chicago's Home for Girls option," I said with a glare. "Because you might as well know: I'd rather work in one of the textile mills in this city. I'm sure Mr. Dwyer would hire the daughter of his most diligent worker."

"Oh, no! No need for that! I think you'd prefer this option much better."

"What option might this be?" I asked impatiently, if not warily. "Stop beating around the bush, dear cousin. The suspense is killing me."

"Isabella," announced Amelia, a smile lighting up her blotchy face, "We - Henry and I - had just secured you a position in a well-to-do family's staff! Specifically, you'd be one of the maids for the Masens, you know them, right?"

"The good news is," added Henry, "you wouldn't even need to work that hard, because the hiring is just a formality."

"The Masens were all too happy to take you in, but you know their situation. It would be entirely appropriate for them to take in a fifteen year old child - that's near marriagable age! - when they have a sixteen year old son still living with them. Can't you think of the scandal?"

Both Amelia and Henry looked at me expectantly, bright smiles on their faces. "So, what are your thoughts about this, Bella?" they both asked.

I gaped back at them. I didn't know what to say. It took a couple of moments for my mind to jumpstart into coherent thought again, and another moment to figure out the appropriate response. When I did open my mouth to say something, it sure was not what the two Spencers expected.

"Are the two of you insane?" I shrieked. "Edward and I, we're not friends. Our introduction six years ago was an argument about garden flora, and since then it has been our personal mission to make each other miserable! You honestly expect me to live under the same roof as that good for nothing buffoon?"

Unfortunately for me, my persuasion skills left a lot to be desired, as proved earlier when I tried and failed to convince Henry to not become a soldier. In the end of a very lengthy and hotly worded argument, I was still due to live with the Masens. As it was, I was just relieved to know that Edward attended a boarding school somewhere far away from Chicago. Hopefully, our encounters would be few and far in between.

**A/N: Please review, and Happy Christmas to everyone! It's Christmas Eve from where I am, but it's raining torrents so I hope my dear readers are having a better day. =D**


	4. Master Masen's Arrival

Identity

Chapter 3: Master Masen's Arrival.

With the fourth month in which I found myself employed to the kind and generous Masens came the winter snows and Christmas cheer. Having started in September, I found that working as a maid was not very different from the work I've done before, especially when my mother was in one of her trances. I didn't mind my work; I enjoy it at times, actually.

It didn't help, of course, that I appeared to be Mrs. Masen's favorite and thus the envy of the other maids. It meant that I occasionally sat with her during dinner, or just kept her company during her reading moments. I even read for her a few times. I was doing just that one night, reading aloud E.M Forster's 'A Room With a View' to her, when Mr. Masen barged into the quiet drawing room and, after depositing his coat and hat on the hanger, announced the news I've been dreading to hear: Edward Masen, their only son, was coming home for the holidays. He was to be expected three days from now.

"Oh, isn't that wonderful, Bella?" Mrs. Masen gasped in delight upon hearing the news. It was all I could do to keep the anxiety from my countenance and smile happily back at my mistress. For some reason, she was blind to the clearly apparent hostility between her son and I. In fact, I would even go as far to say that perhaps, she found our quarrels adorable. At least, that's what she had said to my aunt a couple of years back.

Politely excusing myself out of the room and, taking in hand the now lukewarm tea set, I exited the drawing room to leave alone the celebrating parents. "Did you know he has received the highest marks in his classes..." was the last thing I heard as I turned a corner and entered the kitchen, where the cook and two of the four other maids were busy preparing for tonight's dinner.

"Did you hear, Crystal?" whispered Lillian to the girl beside her, as she chopping up the carrots and was eager for some conversation.

"Here what?" Crystal said distractedly, her attention focused on the potatoes needing to be peeled.

"Master Edward!" Lillian tittered."He is to return for the Christmas season!" Her smile was the widest of the wide. One of the very first things I learned when I first started working here was that, apparently, Master Edward was very, very pleasing to the eye. Of course, since I hadn't seen him recently - the latest being that time during the summer at my aunt's funeral - I wasn't to judge on the girls' opinions. Still, I found it irritating to overhear them gossiping.

"My, Lillian," cried the cook. "Where did you hear tha' piece o' gossip, you child?"

Lillian giggled some more before answering, "I overheard Philip," - he was the man in charge to take care of Mr. Masen's precious automobile - "talking to Marian that Mr. Masen was very much excited to hear the news from Professor Kindling. You know, the headmaster of Master Edward's school?"

"Did you hear any specific dates?" inquired the cook. "That way, I'd know when to prepare his favorite treat."

"Chocolate gateaux?" I asked, joining in the coversation. I had deposited the tea set on the sink and was now busy aiding Crystal with peeling the potatoes.

"Why, Miss Bella," said the cook, chuckling, "you still remember that, after all these years? You haven't had dinner here since - well, since Master Edward's fourteenth birthday celebration, and that was two years ago."

Suddenly, the potatoes in my hand became much more interesting. "Exactly," I managed to say amidst my embarrassment, "which is why you, Mrs. Hathaway, must address me as just Bella. No need for Miss Bella this or Miss Bella that. Things change..."

"Oh, hush. I'll call you whatever I want to, and methinks 'Miss Bella' is very fitting." With that said, the cook went back to her work. I chanced a look at the maids, taking more time with Lillian than I did Crystal, knowing how envious the former can get. She was jealous that, depsite my obvious position as a maid, I was still sometimes treated as a guest of the house.

It was shameful to admit that I quite like the treatment was I getting, but never in a million years would I voice that aloud. Sighing, I continued peeling potatoes with renewed fervor.

Three days passed without much happening, and before I was even aware of time elapsing, Edward was back from school. At least, just for the holidays. Goodness knows I've heard Mrs. Masen complain about the unfairness of it all - being away from her precious son breaks her heart, she says. I've comforted her whenever I could, though most of the time, it was halfhearted and not very convincing. I was sure that Mrs. Masen appreciated my efforts, though.

"Ooh, aren't you excited? He'll be under the same roof as us in just two hours!" Lillian squealed, giggling into her hand. She was careful to not speak any louder, since Mr. Masen was in the same room as us, reading the morning paper.

"I simply cannot fathom why you are excited about this," I said to Lillian, shoving a brass jar into her hands for her to polish. "It's just Edward, Lillian. He's not worth getting excited about."

"Says the girl who's known him longer than any one of us." I scoffed, but Lillian ploughed on. "Haven't you noticed?" she asked, looking up from the brass jar to peer at me. I steadily ignored her gaze. "Oh, please, Bella. Please don't tell me you haven't _noticed_."

"Noticed what?"

"Oh my," she gasped. "You haven't!"

"What?" I asked, half angry. "I haven't noticed _what_?"

"How dreamy he is!"

"Dreamy?" I repeated, disbelieving. "Are you sure that we're talking about the same Edward Masen?" At Lillian's nod, I continued. "The same Edward Masen who, at the age of five, was able to play the piano like a virtuoso, therefore making him conceited and just as bigheaded as pauper thinking himself a king!"

"Bella?"

"The same Edward who, aged nine, I most unfortunately met after his father," my eyes darted to the still reading Mr. Masen, "was ill and needed my mother to take care of him. The same Edward who, at the age of thirteen, teased and tortured a girl only a year younger than him because of the godforsaken dress she was wearing! How petty can one be?"

"Bella?"

"How low could one sink to? Are you entirely certain, Lillian," I let go of the brass kettle I was polishing and grasped the wide-eyed girl on the shoulders, "that we are talking about the sam Edward Masen who deemed it appropriate to _joke_ at my aunt's funeral!"

Lillian avoided my gaze, instead choosing to lavish attention on the jar in her hands. "I see that you and Master Edward have a strange friendship."

"If you can call what we have a friendship." I snorted but didn't say anything more. I returned to the half polished kettle on my lap, and was glad that, fifteen minutes later, Lillian was ordered by Mr. Masen to prepare his things for his journey. She was more than excited to follow the instructions, knowing that the journey our employer was talking about was the trip to the train station to fetch "dreamy Master Edward."

From there on out, Lillian and I separated ways. She was soon enough preoccupied in dusting and cleaning the ground floor rooms, while I busied myself in the kitchen with the cook, preparing for dinner. Because of this, I was the last of the maids to know that Mr. Masen was back home from his journey. I didn't know that he was back or that his son, Edward, was sitting in the dining room with his parents during lunchtime. So it came as a surprise to me when, balancing a particularly large and heavy bowl of soup precariously on a tray, Edward's voice permeated through the corridors.

I froze in shock, just a few steps away from turning ino the dining room. I didn't know what to do. No matter how much I wanted to turn around and head back to the kitchens, preferrably transfering the job of carrying the soup to Crystal and just hole myself up in my assigned bedroom, I knew I couldn't do so. I had a job to do, after all. But I couldn't just waltz in and pretend that it wouldn't be mortifying when Edward sees me. Despite us not wanting it, we grew up together, pactically in the same social circle if not the same neighborhood. It would be a large hit on my pride for him to see me at this ultimate low: a maid in his household.

Breathing in a shuddering breath, I took heed of the shaking bowl on the tray and, deciding to gather my wits about me first, placed it on a nearby table. I vaguely made a note of changing the water and flowers on the intricate vase decorating the otherwise plain table.

I was right in the middle of giving myself an encouraging talk when Mrs. Masen's voice cut through the sound of cutlery and other sounds of people eating.

"Edward," she said, "you've been gone for the last few months, and I know that a lot of things has changed since then."

"Yes, Mother. I've heard about the union between Beatrice Conrad and Joseph McMan. Is it all right for me to assume that we'd be seeing more of Louisa and Catherine, now that their elder sister is successfuly married?"

One didn't have to be intelligent to hear the small amount of anxiousness behind the carefully placed sarcasm in Edward's tone. I rolled my eyes; it was public knowledge - for those who knew, anyway - that Edward Masen had set his pretty green eyes on Louisa Conrad, the second eldest daughter of Mr. Conrad, who happened to be Mr. Masen's boss, a fellow lawyer.

"Why yes, that is true," said Mrs. Masen, "but that's not what I was talking about."

"I think what you're mother is trying to say is," inserted Mr. Masen, perhaps recognizing the hint of uncertainty in his wife's voice, "is that... Say, son, do you remember Renee Swan?"

"Our old housekeeper?" Edward asked, confused. "Wasn't she Bella's mother? Didn't her sister die just this summer?"

"Yes, yes, unfortunately. That family's really having an unfortunate year. You see, son, Renee died. Just recently, in fact."

"Oh." There was a pause wherein I, silly goose, was holding my breath, waiting for more of a response. Lucky for my lungs, Edward spoke about ten seconds later. "What happened to Bella? I know that she only had her mother to - what happened to her? She's not dead too, is she?"

My knuckles were as white as can be from the way I was clutching hard on the edge of the table. Did Edward wish me dead? Is that why he was asking? I knew that we weren't the best of friends, but didn't Mr. and Mrs. Masen raise a gentleman, at the very least a man with more tact? Or was he just not right in the head?

"Of course not, Edward," admonished Mrs. Masen. "What made you come to that conclusion?"

"Then what are you trying to say? She's not living with us, is she? Mother, you know we don't have the best of relationships. The last time I saw her - which was at her aunt's funeral, mind you - she had completely ignored my attempt to lighten the mood! I was only trying to be friendly."

_Lighten the mood?_ I thought incredulously. _Lighten the _mood_? _What on earth was he thinking? Of course I didn't appreciate his attempt to 'lighten the mood'! My aunt was dead! My own mother was devastated and I was grieving. It was a funeral, for heaven's sake.

"Well, that's the crux of the conversation, son." I could _hear_ the look being passed between Mr. Masen and his wife. "She is living with us. Bella's been working for us the past four months, and I sincerely hope she'd be doing so for a long time. She's done such a wonderful job in curbing Lillian's loquacious attitude."

Comparing of the Lillian I knew now and the Lillian I knew four months ago, Mr. Masen's words were true. Yes, it was sad to know that there was a time that Lillian was more talkative and giggly and hyperactive, but at least I've been working on her.

"Now, don't talk like that, dear," came Mrs. Masen's voice. "I certainly would not wish the girl to work any longer than she needs to. What she needs is a good husband to provide for her. If only she would agree to my plans of turning her into debutante. Still, the girl's only fifteen. I have three more years to convince her."

Even this far away from the dining room, I was still able to hear Edward's splutterings amidst his parent's casual conversation. "Wait," he all but yelled, "what do you mean exactly, when you said 'Bella's been working for us,' Father?"

Steeling myself, I took hold of the tray of soup in my hands and chose this moment to enter the room. Edward didn't see me at first, owing to the fact that his back was to me, but Mrs. Masen did, and her husband soon after. The former blushed prettily at the possibility that their conversation was overheard by me, while the latter chose to turn his attention to his son. It probably didn't occur to him that perhaps I was listening in before.

I wordlessly placed the tray on the empty side of the rectangular table and position the soup bowl accordingly. I then retrieved an empty jug of juice and another of water, and was just about to leave the room when I did the foolish thing and looked up from the carpet. That was when I locked eyes with Edward. I quickly looked away, but that didn't do anything to erase the image of his flabbergasted countenance. Despite my mental chiding, I flushed in shame and felt the traitorous prickling behind my eyes. I couldn't leave the room soon enough.

Once I was a far enough away distance from the dining room to be heard, which evidently led me to the kitchen, I handed the tray to Crystal, who took it readily. I then collapsed in tears on the nearest chair I could find. I wasn't the type to cry over things, and especially not over Edward Masen, but the look of utter surprise on his face just strengthened my situation in my mind.

I was poor.

I had nothing.

I was, more or less, his hired help.

This new revelation sure must be a huge ego boost to Edward's already large head.

~~*BREAK*~~

I avoided Edward for the rest of the afternoon, as well as for the rest of the evening. In fact, it wasn't just Edward whom I avoided for the rest of the day. It was Crystal and Lillian as well. I've avoided being in the presence of latter and just chosen not to acknowledge the pitying looks from the former. They both were in the kitchen when I had broken down to tears, and I really didn't need any of their 'help' in coming to terms with my problems. I very well know what my problems were and how to handle them.

As I prepared for sleep, I wondered idly what my life would be like right now if neither my aunt or my mother had died. First and foremost, I wouldn't be undressing in this small, empty room located near the kitchens; I would be undressing in my spacious and well furnished bedroom. Second, I wouldn't be sleeping at this early an hour to prepare for an equally early morning; I would be sleeping until late as I read my cousin's old school books. And lastly, I wouldn't be wondering what my life would be like if neither my aunt of my mother had died; I would be living it.

I missed my mother. I had accepted Aunt Gertrude's death a long time ago, but my mother's? I know that it happened, but I've got a lot to do before I could accept it. Sometimes, especially at times like this, I find it very difficult to believe that my mother was dead. She was the only thing I had; she was my anchor and I was hers. I know I've taken her for granted most of the time, but I loved her dearly. I just hope that she knew that before she died.

Sighing, I slid under the linen covers of the well made bed and stared at the ceiling. I lied straight, feet uncrossed and hands placed neatly on my stomach. For the past few months, I've slept like this because if I slept in any other position, I would be more or less pressed for space in this tiny bed. The Spencers might not have been as rich as the Masens, but I knew for a fact that the maid's beds were much larger. Or perhaps just Emma's.

I was just about to slip off into dreamland when I heard a quiet commotion from outside. Wary, I sat upright and reached blindingly for my dressing gown. I used the moonlight as a lantern while I searched for the matches to light the candle. When I found it and had lighted the poor excise for a stick of wax, I silently eased open my bedroom door and tiptoed towards the kitchen. As I approached, the sound of someone in there increased. My heart pumped louder and faster in my chest.

"Who's there?" the person inside the kitchen asked, presumably one he had caught sight of the light my little candle provided. "Show yourself," he ordered.

"Hold your horses there, _Master_ Edward," I replied mockingly, turning the corner and entering the kitchen. I saw that he was standing by the pantry, a plate of the night's chocolate cake on one hand and an oil lamp in another. "It's just me," I said, stepping forward and daring to look him in the eyes, "or have you forgotten the newest addition to your staff?"

"Bella," Edward said. His voice, I noticed, was much deeper than last I've heard it. I wonder why I didn't notice before. "I..." He trailed off and caught himself. We stood there in the kitchen, not talking and just basically staring at each other, when finally he approached the small wooden table that the servants eat at and placed his plate atop it. "I'm having some cake," he said - as if it wasn't obvious. "Would you care to have some?"

I hesitated before sitting on the opposite chair, completely ignoring the proffered one he had offered me. It was nice to know that he still had manners, but it was discomfiting to see him treating me like we were in the same rank, which we were defnitely not. Not anymore.

"So..." Edward said as he speared the cake in half; he pushed the plate towards the center and pushed one half of the cake towards me. "How are you, Bella? It's been quite some time since I've seen you, the last being -" He stopped abruptly, and I couldn't help but smile, albeit a little stiffly.

"My aunt's funeral, yes." I pushed the plate away from me with my fingers, taking care to not touch the icing that threatened to spill over the edge. I wasn't much hungry. "And as for your query, I am doing just fine, Edward, considering the circumstances."

"Yes," he said softly, "your curcumstances. I hope you won't find me too forward, Bella, but may I ask why you are not with you cousin? I understand that he is married and has a family of his own to provide for, nevetheless you are family."

"Edward, just because you cannot get it inside your dense mind to realize the reason why my cousin left me here was because he loves me enough to not leave me to strangers in an orphanage, does not mean you can assume that he does not care for me. Yes, Henry has his own family to think about, which is why he has decided to become a soldier to provide for his wife and unborn child! I might not like Henry's decision in willingly joining the war, but I understand where he's coming from. And I can't fault his reasons."

Edward blushed and looked down at this food, which he doesn't seem to be eating. "I'm sorry for assuming. In fact, I have a lot to be sorry for, Bella."

"Really?" I squeaked in surprise. This was a completely different side of the Edward Masen that I usually saw.

"I know... I know you've been having such a difficult time with your mother's death and it being so close with your aunt's. I can't even fathom to think about losing the two most important people in my life, because both my mother and father are still happy and alive." He glanced up from the cake and looked at me with those green eyes of his. I didn't have it in me to look away. "I know you were within hearing range when Mother and Father informed me of your situation, and I must apoligize for the poor way I have reacted."

I blushed at being caught. "There's no need," I whispered softly. "It wasn't my place to have eavesdropped in a private conversation."

"Still, it does not change the fact that it happened. Bella," Edward leaned forward and reached out to take my hand, but I surrpetitiously avoided it as I tucked some hair behind me ear. "Bella, I've known you for six years and though we have not been the closest of friends -" I couldn't help but snort at this, and Edward smirked, "- I would like you to know that I grieve for Renee's death also. She had been a wonderful housemaid when I was a child, and it had been such a terrible event for me when she was forced to leave our staff."

I nodded once, not even daring to breathe. What on earth has Edward been smoking? Though I appreciate what he was saying, there's this little seed of doubt in me that says Edward wasn't being sincere. Perhaps his mother advised him to do this, to try be my friend at such a trying time. If this was true, then the shame I already felt just seemed to be redoubled. First I live off the Masens' hospitality, now their son pities me enough to try and make nice-nice?

"Thanks," I said, smiling an unsure smile.

Edward and I talked some more, though our topics were as mundane as can be. I wasn't knowledgeable as to how long we had been conversing, but by the time Edward had yawned five times (the journey from school must've taken a lot out of him) and I three (I had an early day today and will have another one tomorrow), I begged off and declared that I needed to get to bed.

When Edward nodded his head politely and told me teasingly to not let the bed bugs bite, I had this strange thought that perhaps the winter holidays wouldn't be as bad as I imagined.


	5. Disputes and Offences

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait.**

Identity

Chapter 4: Disputes and Offences

There were three cabinets inside the drawing room, all standing against one wall with a bust of the old Mr. and Mrs. Masen, Edward's paternal grandparents, respectively positioned in the spaces between them. As it was, I was sitting quite alone in the room, cleaning very carefully by hand using a damp cloth the glass windows of the cabinets. I was done the first cabinet, which was filled with many dainty glass figurines and decorative tea sets that I swore were never been used before. The second cabinet I had lingered on quite a while, since it had been filled with a small pile of priceless books and a few novels, some even being first editions.

I was busy tending to the third and last cabinet when two men in the form of Mr. Masen and Edward were suddenly inside the room with me. It was clear that they didn't see me, hidden so far in the shadows of the third and second cabinet, so when they argued – for they really were arguing, not the playful banters they sometimes exchanged – they argued as if they weren't going to be overheard. Not by any pesky servants, anyway.

"You are a disgrace!" exclaimed Mr. Masen, and I jumped slightly at his volume. "Befouling the family name! I have worked hard to send you to that boarding school, Edward Anthony, the very same school my father had sent me to and his father him! Yet, this is how you repay me?" He waved around a large slip of paper. "Your grades are wonderful, but your behavior? Abysmal!

"The headmaster says you need an attitude adjustment, and what is this..." Mr. Masen fumbled for his spectacles. "It says here that in the last term alone, you've been in six fights – six fights! – with three different boys, all of them much older than you. I thought I raised an intelligent gentleman who does not participate in foolish boxing. Explain yourself!"

Edward was hanging his head low, though from what I can see of his profile, I can tell that his shoulders were broadened to their full capacity and that his back was straight as a broom's shaft. He was taking in the reprimand, but clearly he did not agree with his father. He'd just been waiting for his turn to explain things in his view, and although I knew that I shouldn't be in the room right now, I stood still and listened. Idly, I cleaned old Mr. Masen's bust.

"Father," said Edward, his voice shockingly stiff and overly polite. "I am quite sorry to have upset you with my quarterly report, because believe me, I am as well. However, you must understand how difficult it is to maintain high grades when your fellow schoolmates make it their life's mission to make your school life a living hell. They barely left me alone – they didn't dare to make the first punch, but they provoked me by bullying others in front of me. Father, you have raised me well and you must know that I didn't condone their maltreatment of others; I felt it my responsibility to avenge them."

It took a while before Mr. Masen spoke again, and I watched transfixed as Edward awaited his reply.

"Be that as it may," his father said finally, "Headmaster Kindling wrote to me that though your grades were less than desirable, he is allowing you to return to school."

"Well then, I must write him a thank you note."

Was it only me who noticed the sarcasm in Edward's voice?

"Now, son," continued Mr. Masen. "I am giving you a choice: either you go to school and promise me to do much better academically, or you stay here with your mother and me."

My hand slipped from the back of old Mr. Masen's head and slammed loudly on the pedestal. The sudden noise notified the two gentlemen that I was in the room and, as their eyes swiveled to me, I felt my cheeks darken with a steady blush. I was in deep trouble.

"M-Mr. Masen," I stammered, curtsying. "Master Masen. I – I was just cleaning the cabinet windows."

I didn't wait for any sort of reply from the two men. Instead, I rushed out of the room with my head bowed low. But despite this, my eyes still managed to catch a glimpse of Edward. His face was unreadable, though his eyes told a different story. The green in them just seemed to pop out, his gaze smoldering and… I shivered and promptly headed towards the kitchen. Perhaps Mrs. Hathaway needed my help.

~~*BREAK*~~

It was awkward even just standing in the same floor as Edward, let alone be in the same room. Whatever connection he and I had made that night on his arrival was swept away and hidden under the carpets. Our tentative friendship was finished before it can even begin. The days passed into weeks and soon enough, it became obvious that Edward had no plans in returning to boarding school. Goodness knows Lillian has been twittering about it all the time.

"He's going to attend St. Andrews School for Boys," she had gushed to the curious Mrs. Hathaway. I must admit that I was curious as well, but I hid it from everyone by pretending to be busy washing the pots and utensils.

I avoided Edward as much as I could. I've swapped jobs with Crystal so that she would serve the Masens dinner while I helped with the morning deliveries of vegetables and the like. It meant waking up an extra hour earlier than I was used to, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make. I was sure that Edward thought of me as just like any other maid: a barefaced maid whose mission in life was to eavesdrop and spread gossip (because it certainly wasn't me who told Lillian where Edward was going to be schooling).

By the time the month of January was halfway over, I had succeeded in never showing my face to Edward, not even accidentally. Of course, he made it plenty easier by holing himself either in his bedroom or in the living room where his pianoforte was. By knowing where he would be all day, I chose my daily chores to be on the furthest possible place in the house.

"Crystal, Lillian, I need you help!"

I turned to the door and saw Mrs. Hathaway carrying a rather heavy pile of freshly dried linen. "Mrs. Hathaway," I promptly got up from the grate (for I was trying, and failing, to light a fire in the fireplace); "let me help you with that. Where do you want to put them?"

"The top half needs to go to the Mistress' room," puffed Mrs. Hathaway. "Where is Crystal? This is supposed to be her job. I'm no maid."

"Oh, she's out getting something for Philip. And the bottom half?"

"It's for Master Masen. Along with the bed sheets, we need to change his curtains because his current ones are very dusty. The Mistress said we need to prepare his bedroom as much as we can so that Master Masen would have the least distractions as possible from his schoolwork."

"That's right," I said in the most nonchalant voice as possible, "he's not going to that boarding school anymore. Say, Mrs. H, it's a weekday. Do you wager he's at school right now?"

"Why, Miss Bella, school started an entire week ago! Where on earth have you been?"

"And Mr. Masen, where is he?"

"In his bedroom resting. Why are you curious all of a sudden?"

"Oh, nothing." I beamed, swapping the linens I was carrying with Mrs. Hathaway. "How about I do Edward's room and once Crystal comes back, she and Lillian can do Mr. and Mrs. Masen's bedroom. You can light the fireplace for me, all right?"

Mrs. Hathaway nodded her head feebly, unsure of how to reply to my sudden willingness to work in Edward's room. Not that I could blame her. I've made my avoidance of him quite clear to all the servants and my behavior right now was the complete opposite of my behavior in the past weeks. But I couldn't help it. I just wanted to be helpful, that's all. It's not like I've got anything else to do than setting up curtains.

After changing the sheets on Edward's bed, I dusted around the room before deciding to move the desk in front of the window so that I can stand on it. With my petite form, I could barely reach the sconces on the wall, let alone the top of the window. I didn't know how long I worked in Edward's room, but midway through folding the heavily embroidered curtains, the opening of the door signaled to me that 'Master Masen' was back from school.

"Bella?" he asked, confused. "Why is my desk there and why are you standing on top of it?"

Shocked, I spun around to face the door, only to trip over the length of the curtain and fall off the desk. Luckily for me, the nearby bed broke my fall, ruining its pristine sheets in the process. Unluckily for me, I just bounced off the bed and landed, quite heavily for someone my size, on the floor.

Naturally, Edward was beside me in an instant. I couldn't allow myself to show weakness in front of him, so I forced my features to not contort with pain and said in a wry voice, "Ouch." I pushed myself to a sitting position only to bump heads with Edward. Glaring, I pushed him away from him and got up to my feet. "You made me fall," I accused him.

My head was throbbing from the hit, but I didn't want to show that weakness either.

"I made you fall?" Edward said incredulously. "_You_ made yourself fall down! Who trips over curtains?"

"I would not have tripped if it weren't for the fact that you startled me."

"Well, excuse me for expressing my shock to find you in my bedroom. Are you not avoiding me now? Did you suddenly figure out that my delinquent self is worthy of your almighty company?"

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "What are you talking about, Edward? I was not avoiding you."

Edward knew that I was a pathetic liar. "Not avoiding me?" he asked. "Then how do you explain the fact that this would be the first time I've see you since before Christmas? Ever since my argument with Father in the living room, ever since you've overheard that I've been in many fights with the boys at my old school, you've been avoiding me like the plague. You made me feel ashamed of sticking up for those bullied students!"

My eyes widened upon hearing that, and I had to step back to keep my balance. "I didn't know…" I whispered. "What you did for those boys was wonderful, Edward. I didn't mean to make you feel bad; it's just that when you and your father found out that I was in the room with you, I feared that you both thought of me as a common maid, that I just wanted to eavesdrop on your conversation." Edward snorted at my milder wording for the argument. "But I'm not like that at all, so I suppose I was mortified and the only logical thing I could think of doing was avoiding you. I'm sorry."

Edward sighed. "That's all right." Then, a mischievous smirk that I did not at all like appeared on his lips. "Now that you've explained things to me, I can stop mentally insulting you. Oh, what am I to do for insulting you, Isabella, has become my nightly habit!"

Not thinking, I slapped him on the arm. "My name is Bella, you idiot!" I said angrily, despite the smile that threatened to break out on my face.

"Ow!" Edward pretended to nurse his newfound injuries. That was when I noticed that he was carrying at least three books with him. Seeing where my gaze was at, Edward lifted his schoolbooks and said in a tortured voice, "Third day into the new semester and already I have to write a thousand word essay."

I did not know what Edward was trying to pull, but I did not pity him at all. Raising a lone eyebrow, I asked him "what it was about," as I returned to folding the old, dusty curtains. Edward, choosing to not comment on my diligence to fixing his curtains, sat on his unkempt bed and answered that it was about "the Renaissance or more specifically, the artists during the time."

"Do you mean the Italian Renaissance or the Northern Renaissance?"

So engrossed as I was with my work that I did not notice how strangled Edward voice was when he said, "Italian Renaissance."

"Oh, so you're learning about Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael Sanzio, Michelangelo, Donatello and the like?" I asked as I retrieved the fresh new curtains and, climbing back up on Edward's desk, began looping it through the bronze tube that held it up. "Shame, I quite enjoy the Northern Renaissance artists. Jan van Eyck made wonderful paintings, but I think Hans Holbein the Younger was a tad more talented. He was Henry VIII's court painter, you know."

I looked over my shoulder to see if Edward shared the same opinion as me, only to find reassurance of my previous belief that Edward's ego inflated head was very much empty. He was staring at me like I was speaking in some unknown, alien language. I expressed my annoyance by pretending that I the small hoops I was looping with the tube was Edward's ego. If only it could pop as easily as a balloon.

At long last, when I was already done fixing his curtains and had climbed off his desk in a flurry of skirts, Edward shook himself out of his reverie. "Sorry," he stood up, "I didn't mean to space out but –"

"I was boring you with my appreciation of Flemish and German painters?" I quipped.

"No, it's not that. It's…"

I peered at him bemusedly and vaguely noted that Lillian was right: Edward did look dreamy, but only when he was confused and struggling to find the words to voice his thoughts.

"Bella, how did you know about all those people?"

"How did I –?" My hands were on my hips in an instant, unknowingly mimicking my mother whenever she was riled up. "Are you insulting my intelligence, Edward? What, just because I'm your lowly servant doesn't mean I can't know about Renaissance artists?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Edward hurried to say. "I was just… surprised that a girl knows about –"

"A girl?" I shrieked. "So, is the female sex below you now? That's rich, Edward. You just made yourself into a bigger jerk than I thought you were."

"No! I didn't mean it like that either!" Edward growled. "Dammit, Bella, would you just let me speak a moment! I just meant that I wasn't aware that you have an in depth knowledge of Europe and its artists during the 14th, 15th and 16th centuries. I didn't mean to insult your situation or your gender. Please forgive a fumbling idiot for his mistake."

I locked eyes with Edward and saw the sincerity there. I sighed, knowing that holding a grudge would just be mean of me so, reluctantly, I nodded my acceptance of his apology. Averting my gaze, I moved to pick up the old curtains. "Good look with your essay," I muttered lamely as I left his room. "I'll bring up your supper if you're not down by seven thirty. I'm sure your parents would understand."

"Thank you, Bella."

With the pleasantries done, I exited the room completely with the large bundle of dusty curtains blocking most of my sight.

**A/N: Whaddaya think? Edward screwed up, hee hee XD**


	6. Important Note

_(Yeah, sorry to disappoint but this isn't a chapter. However, there's preview at the bottom so scroll down if you want to check it out before reading this author's note.)_

Hello dear readers, this is your MIA author speaking (or writing, whichever).

I know it's been a long, long, LONG time since I've last updated any of my stories, but better late than never, yeah? RL has taken so much of my time. Did I mention that I've moved countries? I didn't just move to the other side of town - I moved to the other side of the world! And school was kind of _blehh_ and I've been struggling to cope with the workload, the slightly different culture and the fact that I lost all my notes when my old laptop crashed on me.

Anyway, I figured I should begin writing again if I'm going to take this passion of mine seriously. However, **this is the problem:** I am feeling overwhelmed after I counted and found that I have SEVEN stories that are WIPs. Though only five are demanding to be updated, I still can't concentrate on writing because some part of my brain is worrying about the other stories. Does this ever happen to you?

**This is the solution:** I've set up a poll and you guys could vote on which story you think I should update. The following choices are...

The Watcher

Two Worlds: Exposed

The Power of Knowledge

Identity, and

The Daughter of Apollo

Just vote for whichever story you'd like me to concentrate on completing. The others would just deal with being ignored until I get some chapters out. By the way, I've been toying with the idea of RE-WRITING EVERYTHING on the story chosen by your readers, seeing as I've written them a _loooong_ time ago. I'd like to think that my writing skills have evolved a little bit since then.

* * *

Preview for one of the future chapters: 

I stumbled into the dining room, confused both by everyone's behaviour and the fact that I still felt a small degree of drowsiness from waking so abruptly. The sight that greeted me - Mr and Mrs Masen bickering lightly and Edward frowning at a modest-sized cake - brought me to a halt. Unfortunately, I managed to trip over my skirts and fall flat on my face.

"Bella!"


End file.
